Captain Kid
by Scoffman
Summary: Peter had always abhorred pirates. That was why it was so revolting to be apprehended by one.
1. Chapter 1

The metal was weighty, and it pulled on Peter's hand as he held it aloft. The boy kept his eyes trained on the depths below, poised for a familiar flash of movement. Although he was alert, his body was relaxed, each muscle loose and prepared for action. His breathing was deep, smooth, and even, each intake of air flawlessly aligning with the gentle bobbing and swaying of his boat.

When the motion he was searching for finally appeared, Peter threw his body behind the steel rod, exhaling in time with the swing of his arm. For an instant every cell within his body hummed in harmony with the golden sun overhead and the vast waters below, and as the boy loosened the harpoon, launching it out and downward at the unfortunate creature, he felt entirely at peace. All was right in the world as the spear pierced through the water's surface and landed true.

The fish gave a few death throes before expiring altogether and turning limp. Peter beamed at his catch as he removed it from the blade and tossed it into his nearly-filled bucket.

Although it was entirely plausible to fish in the traditional manner, Peter relished the unique challenges that harpoon fishing proposed. He was perfectly capable of using the conventional string and pole; in fact, he was quite skilled at it, and was arguably one of the best fishermen in his village. But the usual method bored him, and he detested the feeling of idleness it brought. Harpooning was much more involved. One had to understand how the light was refracted by the shifting ocean waves, how the motion of the weapon was altered upon entering the water, where the best spot to spear an animal was located, and be able to account for it all within mere seconds in order to successfully hit the moving target. Needless to say, it demanded more skill than its orthodox counterpart, which consisted of silently willing the fish to feed upon one's own bait within an ocean of options.

Despite the impressive nature of Peter's skill, the man whom he worked to please was never sated. Nor was he particularly unhappy, seeing as how Peter invariably yielded the same catch as when he fished conventionally. The only difference was that the meat suffered more lacerations than usual, but this was no bad trade off for the time that the lad saved.

Unfortunately, the child's father was particularly demanding. He was a gruff, callous old man with the perpetual air of pessimistic cynicism. Life had done an untold number on him, subjecting him to struggles that neither he nor anyone else residing in the small seaside village would speak of. The hardships were locked away behind a barrier of age, known seemingly to everyone except for Peter, who could only glance at the scar over his father's face, the many tattoos on his arms, and his calloused hands with a hopeless curiosity. He knew that the gray-haired man couldn't have been a fisherman for the entirety of his life, and something must have occurred to transform him into the bitter, surly old bastard he was currently. At some point, he must have had friends aside from the bottom of a bottle.

Of course, there was Peter's mother, who was engaged in a perplexing marriage to the man. Perhaps love had once existed between the two, but whatever flame they once held was long extinguished, turning their relationship cold and distant. They were apparently held together by the mere habit of co-existing, which they could manage better together than alone. They were both within retirement age, and were only about ten to fifteen years shy of becoming acquainted with death. This was a cause for distress to Peter, who was only twelve himself, having been born unusually late into his parents' lives. But he consoled himself by simply choosing not think of such things.

His mother and father were antonyms. No two naturally-occurring entities had ever been so unalike. The sun and the moon had more in common than the man and woman Peter owed his existence to. While his father was a rough, soured grouch, his mother was a bright and gentle woman with a face creased from smiling and a voice that was a lullaby capable of soothing Satan.

With the way Peter's father acted when drunk, the boy was sometimes convinced that he was precisely that. The fisherman's inebriated bouts of violence were nothing short of terrifying, and when he was younger Peter could recall cowering in his room while the other subjected their house to a variety of abuses. Now that he was older, Peter wasn't as skittish, and he could bear the brunt of watching his father tear apart the living room in an unjustified rage. Sometimes he would look to turn his aggression toward Peter, but his mother inevitably leapt to his defense. Despite the lack of passion between the two, there was still a sacred respect preventing his father from harming the woman. Even when hopelessly intoxicated, he wouldn't raise a hand toward her.

Peter could not be more grateful for that fact. He didn't know what he'd do if he were forced to fight the man.

His mother was endlessly reassuring. When Peter became frustrated at how his father had reduced the house to shambles, she was there to placate him with the promise that it was only temporary. She would always repeat the same saying: They were only things, and while things can be fixed, people are not so easily repaired. It was a nice thought, and while Peter was overjoyed that no one was hurt during the incident, he was always concerned about the future, which brought the possibility of injury. As a result, he was never truly at ease in his home.

Peter could not help but think that things would be easier were he not alone. Of course, he was isolated in the fact that he was the sole child his parents both acknowledged. However, there was the looming shadow of an unseen brother that he had grown in, enduring the latent gloom of his sibling's wretched reputation. No one in the village spoke of him, as they preferred to forget about him, if at all possible. He had left the place for good, turning his back on his home with complete disregard for those who had raised him. He was no longer a part of the community, and he was no longer a part of his family. But Peter's father was intent on making sure that he would never forget the estranged brother whose departure Peter had been too young to remember.

Whenever the lad strayed from the fisherman's path, his father was there to set him straight. Venturing beyond sight of the coastline was forbidden, as was becoming too friendly with the merchants who came to port. Such curiosity only led to trouble, his father explained. It was better to avoid temptation altogether, as they were capable of capturing the mind of a young man at any moment, and could make him forget his responsibilities. Such was the downfall of Arthur, who failed to heed his father's words and deserted his own kin for the life of a sinful criminal on the brutal, unforgiving seas. He was a shame onto the family, his name a stain that Peter was tasked with erasing.  
While his parents were still held in decent regards throughout the diminutive seaside community, there was quiet speculation. Gossip and theories made infrequent rounds, albeit fleeting in nature. Peter couldn't say that he blamed the townsfolk for wondering what went wrong, - surely something had gone horribly awry for the Kirklands to have produced a pirate - as he too pondered over the subject regularly, but to no avail. Peter's own brother was a sacred knowledge that was forbidden to him, as his parents feared that the mere mention of Arthur would deprave him.

Sailors were not so tight-lipped. The nomadic workers who blew in from the seas brought with them tales of pillage and conquest, all of which astonished and horrified Peter. Of the many stories that the boy gained from the docks, there were several that revolved around prominent and ghastly figures: Antonio Carriedo, Francis Bonnefoy, Abel Van den Berg. Each pirate captain was depicted as merciless in his own right, splendid in his cruelty and seeking unfathomable wealth. Sometimes Peter would catch his own surname tossed about in those recounted glories, and he knew that his brother was out there somewhere, taking part in all of the infamous, reprehensible acts that piracy entailed. He was forging a contemptuous name for himself, but when he was mentioned by travelers, it was always with a tone of fear or respect.

Although it was wrong, Peter yearned to learn more. He wanted the men to enchant him with stories of the sea, but more than anything he lusted after some type of news. He knew that his mysterious, shameful, intriguing brother was out there somewhere, doing something incredible with his life. Even though Peter resented him and wanted nothing more than to chastise him, he was curious.

But the chatter always excluded him, as it was invariably saved for the tavern, which was the one place in town that Peter was absolutely banned from visiting. The lad could get away with "overhearing" a few stories at the docks, but under no circumstance was he to be caught at the tavern. His father knew the owner well, and word would soon reach his parents if Peter set foot inside the establishment. Yet this fact only caused more animosity toward his brother. If Arthur hadn't left, Peter's only link to his whereabouts wouldn't be the word of a complete stranger, silenced within the walls of a prohibited place.

However, the issue of his brother did not matter as much as what Peter intended to do about it. The precise nature of his family's shame was not of particular significance to the boy, only the fact that he was the one forced to atone for it. His father thought that the best way to do that was by staying put, becoming a career fisherman, and taking the old man's role in the community upon his retirement. As a young child, Peter had been all too happy to work toward the goal he'd been assigned. Whenever he made his first catch at the age of five, the look of pride in his mother's eyes and the vague approval of his father had been enormously gratifying.

Toiling away for the pleasure of others had since lost its splendor, and Peter could not help but consider the alternatives for his future. Truth be told, he didn't fancy the incessant routine that fishing presented, and eventually he would become revolted by it altogether. Once the challenge of spearing fish dissolved, Peter wouldn't have any type of stimulus. It would be maddening.

There weren't many options available to him, but he still craved the unattainable. As Peter counted his catch and elected to call it a day, he spared a glance out to the open ocean. Something called to him from beyond the horizon. He felt a surge of inspiration sweep over him, and he desired nothing more than to charge out into the open waters, chasing after the promise of adventure. It was his greatest dream.

But therein laid the trouble. It was indeed a dream. Unfortunately, Peter was handicapped by the fact that all he possessed was a rowboat, a bucket of fish, and an overbearing father that chained him to a certain yet underwhelming future. For a moment, he could understand why Arthur left. For as long as Peter was there, he was nothing more than a boy allowing his thoughts to be carried away by the salty ocean gale, crestfallen with the knowledge that they would journey infinitely further than him.

Unable to suffer through the torture of resisting the beckoning of the ocean, Peter brandished his oars and and began to row home, discontentedly turning his back to the life he desired.

He didn't expect for his dreams to beat him home.

Upon rounding the coastline's bend, Peter caught sight of port, and with it, a fleet of clippers. Docked in his town's humble port were three sloops and a magnificent warship, collectively occupying nearly the entire harbor. Saint George's Cross billowed in the breeze, tied above the crow's nest of the warship. Each of the sloops possessed an accompanying banner of Union Jack, all strung and billowing in unison.

Peter began to row with unprecedented enthusiasm, heading ashore as quickly as he could manage. He had hardly reached the shallows when he leapt from the craft, hurriedly tying it to the pier. He then sprinted to his village at a breakneck pace, bucket and harpoon in hand.

By the time he made it to the main street, Peter's sides were heaving and he was breathing in gasps. However, his fatigue was overshadowed by the sight of men in glorious crimson coats roaming the town, too numerous to count. They were everywhere, strolling about at a leisurely pace and going from one shop to the next. Although there were only a few businesses in the town, there were enough to attend to the sailors' needs, and the owners greatly appreciated the business, as was evidenced by the employees greeting the new customers at the door.

Peter was too nervous to advance beyond the first building on the street, his legs frozen as he observed the men. He didn't dare to approach any of them, settling to admire them from a short distance. His head was swimming with wonderful, spectacular thoughts. He could only imagine where the men had traveled to, and what all they had seen. How many lives had they saved? How many injustices had they prevented? How many invasions had they thwarted? The young boy felt his heart rate increase as the possibilities bounced around his head, and he couldn't keep the giddy smile off his face as he imagined how the life of a sailor in the Royal Navy must be.

A door slammed into Peter's side, sending him stumbling sideways. He produced a small yelp of surprise before regaining his balance, turning to see that he'd been standing in front of the governor's office. With a great deal of embarrassment, Peter also noticed that a naval officer had been exiting the building, but was impeded by the boy's poor choice of resting place. The man was clearly of high rank, as he wore a peruke and an immaculate uniform. He appeared astoundingly regal, and with his strong, lean build, he towered over Peter. He rested his murky green eyes on the boy, respectably ruffled.

"Oh! Sorry about that, dear boy. I didn't see you there." The man appeared apologetic as he stepped outside, focusing on Peter with a polite but distant gaze. "Are you alright there?"

Peter tilted his head back to make eye contact, and instantly felt humble. He was rendered speechless for an uncomfortable amount of time, which felt like an eternity but in reality was only a few seconds. When he did finally grasp words, he stuttered. "Y-Yes, I'm fine! S-Sorry. I shouldn't have been standing there, sir…?" he trailed off, looking up the man in a silent inquiry.

"Commodore James Norrington, at your service." the man said, a faint and almost undetectable smile gracing his lips as he looked down to Peter in amusement, "And what might your name be, young lad?"

Peter took note of the smooth confidence with which the Commodore spoke, and despite knowing that it was no great feat to be so self-assured when faced by a child, he wished that he possessed half of his charisma. He attempted to emulate it to the best of his ability, standing up straight and extending himself to his full, unimpressive height. "My name is Peter Kirkland."

The Commodore's expression faltered, and he stared down at the child in scrutiny. His brows furrowed, and he appeared both shocked and concerned, as if Peter had inexplicably sustained a morbid injury. However, he recalled his own position within moments, and he summoned back some semblance of his composure soon thereafter, though he was still clearly not at ease. "Well, it's certainly nice to meet you, Peter." Norrington stated, extending his hand to shake.

Peter accepted the gesture, his hand nearly engulfed in the Commodore's. He intently gazed up at Norrington, who, standing at just over six feet, was a tree of a man.  
When Peter's hand was released, he relapsed into his earlier enthusiasm.

"Have you ever been to the Caribbean Sea?" he blurted, his voice thick with childish excitement. Peter immediately realized that the question was sudden and thus might have been rude, his face growing red after the fact. "I-uh, I'm sorry, it's j-just, you seem so interesting..!"

Norrington produced a deep, genuine chuckle, temporarily removed of his previous distress. "Why, I have indeed." he answered, comfortably folding his arms behind his back, "My men and I will leave here for London, then begin passage back to there, actually. It's truly a lovely place, quite beautiful." He paused, his eyes trailing down to the harpoon loosely clasped in Peter's hand. He allowed himself to show impression. "That's an exceptionally large weapon for a such a young child. Did you spear those fish yourself?"

Peter glanced down to his spear, taking its mass into consideration for the first time in ages. He'd grown so accustomed to it that he'd wielded it without a second thought for years, and he hadn't fully assessed it since the first time he'd picked it up, which was with a great amount of difficulty. Realizing that the skill was abnormal for a boy his age to possess, he became a bit proud. Making eye contact once more, Peter nodded. "Yes indeed."

Norrington was still visibly affected, as he stood straight and appeared to look at Peter in a new light. "Well, that's certainly a great accomplishment. You're going to make a fine fisherman when you grow up-"

"No!" Peter interjected, unexpectedly to both the Commodore and himself. Shocked at his own tongue, Peter paused, finding that he had to account for what he'd said, and reluctantly realizing that he could not conceal his true thoughts. With renewed anxiety, he began, "I-I mean, a fisherman's life is all good and well, but I think… I think I'd like to go beyond that." There was a fretful light to his face as he shakily added weight to his previously undiscussed and disregarded dreams. "I suppose you could say that, well.. I'm looking for adventure."

Norrington raised a brow, staring at the boy with a look that could best be described as cautious. "Ah. Precisely what kind of adventure do you have in mind?"  
Peter glanced out toward the dock, toward the the vast ocean that laid beyond it. In a moment of rare certainty and honesty, Peter rose to his toes and excitedly regarded Norrington once more. "I want to fight pirates."

The Commodore did not react at first, taking the statement into consideration. But the moment the weight of his words registered, a smile came to his face. Greatly pleased by Peter's answer, the man gently reached over and clapped his back. "And you'll be a fine sailor! How old are you? Have you considered enlisting?"

"I'm twelve, sir." Peter answered, brightening up at the other's approval. "And I haven't seriously thought about it. There's not much opportunity out here, you see. And my father would have a fit if he knew that I didn't want to carry on his trade."

"Surely he'll understand." Norrington responded, his voice thick with encouragement. It was blatantly obvious that he wanted to see the boy in the navy. "If you're concerned about him, allow me to speak with him. I can be very persuasive. Now… you're a bit too young to enlist currently, but I'm sure that if I put in my word at London, I can secure you an apprenticeship. If you'd like, I could have you sailing with me on _HMS Interceptor_ in a month's time."

Peter hardly noticed the loud clang of the bucket against the cobbled sidewalk, nor the resounding reverberation of his harpoon as it fell to the ground. His eyes were vast and endless, cerulean as the ocean and gleaming with jubilation.

"Yes, please!"


	2. Chapter 2

Peter crouched in the corridor, careful to not make any sudden movements. If he shifted his weight too quickly, the hardwood floors would creak and betray him, alerting his parents and the Commodore to his presence. Not only would it be embarrassing to be caught eavesdropping, but the proceedings would be interrupted and perhaps brought to an untimely end. Regardless of the outcome, Peter would most definitely be prevented from listening in, which was an idea he detested. Although the boy was not particularly fond of being forced to hear discussion of his own future in secrecy, he was pointedly less fond of doing so for any longer than was absolutely necessary. Luckily, he was knowledgeable about the floors of his home and how much stress they could silently bear. He would eavesdrop to his heart's content, and with the confidence that he would get away with it. He was simply too desperate to fail.

Norrington's smooth tenor voice reverberated throughout the home without intention. It carried with a straightforward, commanding grace that was entirely fitting for a man of his rank and position. It provided his message a strength that Peter, who was accustomed to the gravelly, low bark of his father, had never witnessed.

His mother piped up, her honey-like voice laced with concern.

"Commodore, the open sea is dangerous! Peter's the only child I have; I cannot risk losing him as well!"

"Mrs. Kirkland, I understand your concerns. But I guarantee you that if you allow Peter to take an apprenticeship with me, I will protect him to the best of my ability. He will scarcely leave my side. In the Royal Navy, he will learn the deplorable nature of piracy-"

"Oy, don't ya think we taught 'im that? After Arthur went an' became the monster he is today, we've done everything we could ta keep Peter from takin' to that path 'imself!"

"Mr. Kirkland, I've no doubt that you and your wife raised your son with anything other than the greatest possible care. I am merely offering the chance to allow him to see it for himself, and to experience firsthand the atrocities that pirates commit. I believe that when he realizes how harsh the realities of it are, he will be further appalled by the path of a criminal. To his credit, he already is. In fact, your son expressed a strong desire to combat pirates-"

"Heavens, no! That is _much_ too dangerous!"

"Indeed, and Peter himself would not experience any direct combat under my mentorship. However, he would experience the effects of it, and he would be shown how our men in uniform sacrifice for the good of the country. This is an excellent educational opportunity-"

"Aye, one that distracts 'im from 'is duties at home. I don't need another sailor for a son, regardless o' if the boy's a pirate or not."

Peter tensed, biting the inside of his cheek. His father was being wildly unreasonable, and it was infuriating to listen to. Would the man not rest until Peter was buried in this town?! He exhaled slowly, making an effort to calm himself before he lost his temper and blew his cover.

"Sir, I do not appreciate that generalization. But seeing as how you're not at all accustomed to the company of a naval officer, I will overlook it." Norrington paused, his voice thick with a politeness strained with irritation, which seeped through in his tone, yet was never once reflected in his following word choice. "For future reference, it is not wise to group members of the Royal Navy with all sailors. I shall inform you that while merchants may be uncouth and reckless, and pirates infinitely more so, his majesty's men at arms are loyal, kind, and brave gentlemen of the highest caliber. Only the finest men in the land are chosen to defend the crown at sea, and and when we're not protecting our homeland from marauding heathens who would rejoice in seeing her downfall, we provide aid and assistance to the unwise common sailors you mistake us for, whose irresponsibility or misfortune has landed them in a dangerous situation. By and by, we save lives. I am offering your son a chance to become an honorable and disciplined young man at no cost to you. I am offering him a future of nobility and glory, should he choose to accept it. But frankly, I don't believe that he deserves to have his ambitions spurned and spit upon by his own parents. He has potential. I beg of you to allow it to be realized."

The short speech was followed by a silence in which Peter felt his face grow hot. His entire body became pleasantly warm, and he clasped his hands together over his mouth to conceal his wide smile. Hearing the Commodore speak about him kindly made him feel light and giddy, as if he were capable of floating. The fact that he was flawlessly defending Peter's desires with linguistic skill greatly exceeding his own made the boy feel secure and protected, as if he were being rescued by a knight in shining armor.

However, his hopes came burning down with the dismissive and embittered tone of his father.

"We'll consider it."

There was a second great pause, wherein the air grew thick. Peter took his father's statement to mean that the Commodore's visit was brought to an end, and he slowly began to crawl back to his room, sliding along in every effort to remain silent. The customary, coarse parting pleasantries were exchanged before Norrington took his leave, walking out into the hallway just as Peter ducked into his room. The boy caught a glance of the officer as he did so, the rich colors of his immaculate uniform leaving an imprint on his mind. As the child hid from sight within the safe walls of his own living space, he became determined to not allow his dreams to slip through his fingers.

By the time his father came to his room to discuss the matter, he was met by an empty space and a window left ajar.

Norrington fumed to himself as he walked back to the village, the only outward sign of his anger being the brisk pace at which he moved. Mentally, he was chastising the pair. How could they insist upon their son not taking the opportunity? Did they not see that he could have a propitious future? The Commodore could understand if they were both already of nobility, and had a plethora of honorable, less dangerous options available to their son. But they were peasants, and thus were not in any position to refuse.

Furthermore, they were being cruel. The child clearly desired to travel and combat injustice, and their attempts to prevent him from seizing the chance he'd likely never receive again was the greatest torture that Norrington could ever imagine for Peter.

A loud crash came from behind him, followed by a chorus of snapping twigs. Norrington did not hesitate to draw his sword, and he pivoted on his heel in an abrupt change of direction, en garde to face his adversary. However, he was faced only with an unarmed, fallen young lad.

"Peter? What on earth are you doing?"

"I was trying to catch up to you so I could talk with you, but you were moving so fast..!" Peter said as he scrambled back to his feet, brushing off the dust from his shorts and picking the stray foliage from his peasant's shirt.

Norrington sheathed his sword, relaxing with a sigh. "Peter, I don't know if-"

"I heard everything." Peter stated, turned awkward by his own admittance to eavesdropping, "But don't feel bad; no one can change my father's mind. I wanted to come and see you before you left forever. There's still so much that I have to ask you." He hesitated and looked down to his feet, "That is, assuming you'd tolerate me for a while longer."

Norrington's gaze softened in sympathy, and he slowly closed the distance between himself and Peter, coming to stand less than an arm's length away.  
"Of course you're welcome to my time. Otherwise, I would not have sought you for an apprentice." He reached around Peter's shoulders and began speaking in a solemn tone. "I am terribly sorry about all of this. If it were up to me, you would be permitted to make your own choices regarding your future."

Peter offered a sad smile, responding in a heartfelt tone. "Honestly, Commodore, you needn't feel bad. It's alright. I'll be fine here, I'm sure. But I don't want to waste the only chance I'll have to learn about this. So, if I may ask, what is the Caribbean like?"

Norrington smiled faintly himself, finding a charm to the boy's curiosity. "Dreadfully humid and hot. The sun is scorching, but the rain is plentiful." he turned and began to walk, leading Peter toward the village without ceasing in his answer, "The waters are more blue than anything you've ever seen. The ocean is filled with small, green, sandy islands. It's mostly jungle, but a few of them are civilized, such as Port Royal." An audible twinge of pride worked its way into Norrington's tone when he mentioned the place, accompanied by a great deal of nostalgia. Pushing through the emotion, he continued, "Others are unexplored and deserted. Some are overrun by pirates. Others yet are inhabited by savages. Considering how diverse the possibilities are, it's best to beware unknown isles."

Peter's eyes were alight with wonder. "There are pirate-run islands? Has the crown tried to take any of them over?"

Norrington could not prevent the grin that followed. He enjoyed the ambition and initiative that Peter showed; it was obvious that he genuinely desired to bring an end to the piracy that plagued the seas, and to the Commodore, hardly anything was more admirable. His approval was only doubled when taking Peter's blood into consideration, as it showed that he possessed quite a good deal of bravery. He was attempting to be noble despite the fact that his family was anything but honorable, and an acute pang of sadness washed over Norrington as he was reminded that the boy was unable to break the cycle that he'd been involuntarily chained to.

"We've taken a few on occasion." Norrington explained, "Most of the time it isn't beneficial to us. There are so many islands that our adversaries will simply vacate to a different one with ease. It's not worth the effort at the moment, seeing as how pirates are like roaches and will resurface anywhere. The only island that could potentially be worth seizing is Tortuga, which is the largest stronghold that those criminals currently have. They've gathered some resources in a black market that's worth taking, and depriving them of a fixed meeting place may render them scattered and weak, but the question we are currently faced with is whether or not it is better for us to spy and attempt to gather information, or to advance and wipe them out the best we can."

Norrington paused, then added pleasantly, "Currently, we are establishing a strong British presence in the area so that we won't be so thinly-stretched in our resources. Port Royal, for instance, is a thriving community that's not much larger than this place. I personally consider it home, and I wish you could travel with me there. It's one of the safest islands in all of the Caribbean, and it is by far the most beautiful."

Peter nodded in understanding, still visibly overcome with admiration. He noted the longing tone with which he talked about the island, and yearned to lay eyes upon it for himself. "You make it sound like heaven on earth." he stated, "I wish I could see it… But I suppose your apt descriptions of it are better than never hearing of it at all. You said it's bigger than here, right? What are the residents like?"

Norrington could not help but think about Elizabeth. He felt the familiar taste of sorrow on his tongue, mixed with an overwhelming desire that was too much to bear. He distracted himself with other thoughts. "Most of the population consists of royal sailors, who come and go as they are assigned. Others are there as full-time guards. As for the citizens, they are pleasant and respectful to our men in uniform. By and large they are decent, law-abiding people. Most of them are from the British mainland, but a few children have been born there and are natives. It's a new, but lovely colony."

Peter grinned, and Norrington found that his smile was quite agreeable. He felt a surge of optimism result from it, catching him off-guard with the strength of his infectious happiness. At that moment the pair came into town, which was still filled with crimson-clad sailors, albeit reduced in number. A few of them perked up upon seeing the Commodore, giving nods of acknowledgement as he passed. Peter was greatly surprised by the respect that the sailors showed him, regardless of the fact that Norrington was of the rank to warrant it. For a few startling seconds the boy was able to feel what it was like to have true respect, as opposed to the mere distant, condescending friendliness of the other villagers. The main issue with living in such a small place and being born so late into his parents' lives was that there was no one in his town that was his same age. As a result, he wasn't able to have friends, and everyone else in the village looked down on him in some manner. It was irritating to live with, but it wasn't bizarre, as was the thought that there were a handful of young adults in the community who had grown up with Arthur, and now had children of their own. That meant that wherever the man was, there was the possibility that he was a father, perhaps even unbeknownst to him, considering the activities that pirates often engaged in.

The thought made Peter sick, and so he elected to occupy himself with other ideas. Luckily, his attention was caught by another man who approached the two, regarding the both of them with a friendly, humble air that was unexpected from a man in a captain's uniform.

"Commodore." he greeted, dipping his head.

"Captain Reed." Norrington responded.

"My men are all rested and accounted for. Whenever you and the others are ready, _HMS Interceptor_ will be ready to sail."

Norrington nodded. "Thank you, Captain. I believe we're on schedule to sail by sundown."

The Captain paused, observing Peter for a moment before speaking again. "Commodore, if you don't mind me asking, who is this young lad you've got with you?"

"A local boy." Norrington answered smoothly, "He's expressed an interest in enlisting, but is a bit too young at the current time. I've offered him an apprenticeship, but it unfortunately, his parents won't have any of it."

"Oh, that's a shame!" Reed responded, looking at Peter in an expression of sympathy. "But I do commend your desire to join. Perhaps you can leave and enlist when you're of age; if you've the will and want, I'm sure we could greatly benefit from having you in our ranks. What's your name?"

"Thank you, sir." Peter answered, unsure what precisely he was thanking the man for. Perhaps it was for the suggestion that he could be valuable, or perhaps it was appreciation for Reed taking the time to notice him. It could have been nothing other than a sign of respect and politeness, or in all likelihood, a combination of all three. Gazing up to the other happily, he answered, "My name is Peter Kirkland."

An expression of astonishment came over Reed, and he did not look at all unlike Norrington when he first heard Peter's surname. However, he wasn't as quick to regain his composure.

Looking back to the Commodore, Reed raised a brow in near disbelief. "Blimey, does he mean..?"

Norrington nodded. "Yes, he does indeed."

"Bloody hell." the Captain stated, "I've heard rumors, but I never actually thought…" His eyes drifted to Peter again, looking over him closely. He only appeared more surprised with what he found.

"He really is!" Reed deduced, regarding Norrington with agitation, "And his parents wouldn't allow him to join?!"

"I'm afraid not." The Commodore affirmed, his tone nearly bitter.

"It's rubbish." Peter asserted, speaking up for himself after witnessing the second peculiar reaction to his heritage, "You would think that after my family earned a bad name, they'd love to rid of it. I'm beginning to think that my parents just hate me, but there's nothing to be done about it. I'll be fine here for a few more years before I can leave and properly enlist. I just… don't suppose I'll have the honor of training beneath the two of you."

Reed's expression fell into one of sadness as he realized that Peter possessed a genuine, wholehearted desire to work for them. He attempted consolation. "No, but by that time, I'm sure the Commodore and I could request you for our ship. It's a bit odd, but not entirely unheard of. It will just take a bit longer."

Norrington nodded in agreement. "Yes, there is still hope yet. But in the meantime, I suggest that we bring him aboard to show him how we operate in the Royal Navy."

Reed flashed an enthusiastic smile. "Yes, that's a splendid idea!" Shifting his attention to Peter, he asked, "What do you think?"

Peter beamed up at the two officers. "I'd love to!"

When the Commodore and Captain set off to the docks, they did so in a flawlessly synchronized, brisk pace. Peter was once again forced to rush in order to keep up with the much taller men, who moved with such grace that Peter appeared like an unkempt dachshund attempting to small boy could not help but admire the men, who projected a commanding confidence that made it seem as if they were capable of ordering the world to stop spinning, and have a good chance at eliciting a response.

When they reached the pier, Peter was offered a full view of the clippers. It was so astounding that he paused to admire them, completely taken aback by their massive size. The sloops, though they were small by navy standards, towered over the waves at a remarkable height, and Peter could not treasure it enough.

Norrington noticed the boy disappear from his side, and turned to look at him in confusion. His first thought was that he had changed his mind, but after seeing the way that the child admired the craft, he was overcome with understanding. Norrington wished that he was capable of viewing the boat through his eyes, young and new. When he had seen a clipper, Norrington had been too young to remember it. The ocean had always been his home, but he'd never been able to admire it through the same virgin eyes that Peter possessed. He had never been able to be wholly impressed by any craft, despite his love for them. In that sense, he envied Peter, but he was still more than happy to teach him the ways of the navy. He only wished that he had more time.

"Are you coming aboard?" Norrington asked, his voice snapping Peter out of his trance.

Flustered and embarrassed at his inattention, Peter quickly moved to rejoin the Commodore. "O-Oh, um, yes!"

Norrington walked onto the ramp, strolling up to the dock without much of a second thought. Reed was already there, waiting for the two patiently. Peter was still wonderstruck as he climbed the rugged plank, gazing at the bowsprit with wide eyes.

"What do you think?" Reed asked, staring at Peter after Norrington stepped onto the deck. He smiled warmly, satisfied with the other's reaction.  
"She's…" Peter blinked, making an attempt to focus on Reed, though he still appeared distant. "She's beautiful." He spoke in a whispered voice, still soaking in the reality of the ship. The wood was sturdy and reliable beneath his feet, strong and unforgiving. It swayed and rocked with the waves of the ocean, but the lad was already accustomed to watercraft, and his balance did not falter.

Norrington was impressed by that fact. He hadn't expected for him to have his sea legs, and he was pleased to realize that he took to the ocean in the precise way a Kirkland was expected to. With his apparent desire and natural ability, Norrington was able to see why Peter's father was concerned with the possibility of him choosing a life of piracy. Throughout the Commodore's many years of sailing and combat, he knew the dangers the boy would face on the open waters. But they were not near as great as the noose that would hang over his head should he defect, and the key difference between Peter and his older brother was that the former was clever enough to realize that. Although Norrington had no fears regarding the lad's choices, he promised himself and Peter that he would not allow him to become demoralized.

That was, of course, whenever Peter did find his way under the Commodore's command. It would be five years at best, which was painfully far away. By that time, Norrington may even be promoted, making it difficult to mentor Peter, or perhaps he would die in combat, which would be greatly unfortunate despite its unlikelihood. There was far too much uncertainty for the Commodore to be comfortable with, and judging by the intense longing in Peter's eyes, he wasn't pleased by the delay, either.

"Indeed she is." Reed stated, keeping his attention trained on Peter, "But you haven't seen half of her yet." He turned and beckoned him to follow, an amicable ride visible in his demeanor.

Norrington was familiar with that feeling. He recalled how it felt to be a Captain, which was only a short while ago. A Captain's ship was the light of his life, and a great source of joy. It was his home and a reflection of himself and his crew. It was the guardian that protected them from the ocean's brutality. Being able to show it off to someone who genuinely admired it and saw it as a treasure instead of to a person who gazed at it critically was a splendid feeling. For Norrington, the sentiment extended to all of the ships within his fleet.

Reed led Peter to the starboard side, taking him below deck and showing him the internal workings of the craft. The bunks, brig, and storage space were all shown to the child, much to his enjoyment. After acquainting him with the lower chambers, Reed brought Peter back above deck, greeting sailors by name all the while.

Norrington noted how the young Kirkland's expression of amazement never wavered, even when shown the relatively cramped living spaces. Upon coming back into the fresh air, Peter caught sight of the running rigging and became transfixed, stopping in his tracks and gazing up at the cordage. Norrington halted as well, warmed by the other's interest.

"What's piqued your attention?" The Commodore inquired, following his gaze.

"How does this work?" Peter asked, not removing his eyes from the equipment, "How does she move?"

Norrington wanted to go into depth, to teach him every maneuver known to seamen and to help the lad become unquestionably well-versed in the art of sailing. But that would demand time that neither of them possessed. Against his wish, the Commodore proceeded to relay an abridged version, explaining the most crucial aspects of operating a clipper. With the ease of an expert, Norrington covered how to unfurl the sails, how to read the wind, and how to catch it so as to gain a push in the vessel's favor. By the end, Peter had moved his attention to Norrington, looking to him as if he hung the moon.

"Any questions?" the Commodore asked upon reaching the end of his explanation. Peter, who had been so engrossed in his words that he'd failed to notice that Reed had excused himself to check on his men, was almost surprised by the query. He paused, then hesitantly began, "Oh, um… Well, yes. Just one."

Norrington continued to gaze at him expectantly, confident that he was capable of answering any question the boy asked. "Oh? What is it?"

Peter was unnerved once more, and was reluctant to speak. "I- um… Well, I know about my brother." he stated, clearly uncomfortable raising the subject, "But I don't know much. I can see that he's pretty infamous, judging by how you and Captain Reed reacted. But, uh, what exactly is he? Have you ever seen him? What's he like?" There was a quiet desperation in his voice, and Norrington was able to see that it wasn't as much of a question as much as it was a plea. The Commodore could not possibly reject him.

"Kirkland is a pirate captain." He stated, his tone emotionless and dry. In respect of his present company, he made an effort to conceal his own resentment, wrenching the contempt from his voice. "I've faced him several times; we've even crossed swords. He's a worthy adversary. Clever and cunning, he knows how to inspire his crew. His swordsmanship is lacking, but he's quick to pull a gun, with which he's an excellent shot." Norrington gained a bit of disapproval in his visage, but otherwise remained stoic. "He frequents the Caribbean, but he doesn't always stay there. I'm not sure where he goes off to, but he disappears for months. Occasionally I'll catch word of him in miscellaneous island ports. He always leaves an imprint wherever he goes - he wears a coat resembling a royal midshipman, but it's impossible to confuse the two. All the women swoon over his green eyes, but from what I hear, he'll have nothing to do with romance. Only has eyes for gold." Norrington paused, relaxing after concluding his description. "I don't know his current whereabouts, I'm afraid. He never stays in one place for very long, and I've been focused on capturing Carriedo, since he's the most dangerous at the present time. But I hope I've adequately answered your question."

Peter didn't know if he should be relieved or disappointed. On one hand, he was quite happy to know that his worst fears were likely rubbish - among other things, it sounded as if his brother was probably not a father after all, which was excellent - but on the other hand, he was indeed a pirate, and thus Peter's vague hope that he may have reformed was ruined. But regardless of the mixed emotions that the knowledge brought, Peter was grateful for the man who provided him with it, and who ended a years-long cycle of yearning and disappointment.

"That's… That's more than adequate." Peter responded, looking up to the Commodore with newfound respect, "Thank you very much."

Norrington merely nodded, once again surprised at how the boy seemed to revere him. He offered a somewhat awkward half-smile. "You're welcome."

Norrington then allowed his eyes to trial upward, resting on a point far beyond Peter. After a moment of silence, he walked toward the front of the ship and came to a stop, gesturing for Peter to join him. The other did so without hesitation, standing by his side within an instant. Norrington looked out to the wide, open waters, feeling at peace as he did so. Peter had to stand on his toes in order to gain a decent view, his short stature proving a great inconvenience.

"Peter, there's something I'm obligated to make certain you understand." Norrington began, "I'm sure that you know, but… This is no easy task. Good men die in action, and more often than not, it's not a pleasant passing." He pressed his hands flat against the top of the ship's starboard ledge, growing solemn and strained with the weight that witnesses to death were forced to bear. "Being shot is luxurious," he explained, "I've seen men gored, crushed, choked, stabbed, beaten, and mutilated. If one does not meet his end in combat, he is taken by the ocean. This is a dangerous occupation. If you enlist, I cannot guarantee your safety. There is a high likelihood that something will go awry."

Peter was humbled by the Commodore's dark change in mood, and he nodded in comprehension of the man's warning. However, he did not pause to ponder over the matter. "Of course." he answered immediately, "I understand that perfectly. But this is the greatest opportunity that I have. I would much rather have my life stolen in a gruesome manner than waste away here forever."

Norrington was surprised by the swiftness with which Peter answered, and guessed that he had put some deal of thought into the situation beforehand. He wondered how often the boy dreamed about a greater fate, and how often he was crushed with the sobering reality of being chained to the small community he unwillingly called home. His heart went out to the child, flooding with sympathy. "I see," he sighed, "Peter, there is nothing I'd love to do more than take you as an apprentice."

The lad turned from the ocean and folded his arms, catching Norrington's eye. There was a fire in his gaze that he hadn't seen before, and when he spoke, determination clouded his voice. "Perhaps you still can." he turned his eyes toward the oaken planks that held him aloft over the waves, "I think I've had it with the old man. I'm going to go give him an earful. All I've ever done is what he wanted; I think it's time to make my own decision for once. A real navy man wouldn't allow anything or anyone to stand between him and his duty, would he? I can't help others if I don't help myself now. Wait for me, please. I'll return to you soon, Commodore!"

Norrington meant to urge him against being rash, and tell him not to burn any bridges, but Peter had already taken off, too determined to fail.

Peter threw open the door to his home, marching inside with an unprecedented sense of purpose. Too many times had he entered his own home in fear and apprehension of his father and his habit of inebriation. Now it was his turn to make the man subject to _his_ fury, reversing the rolls in an enthralling bout of revenge.

His father was in the kitchen, sharpening a knife he used to gut fish. He frowned upon Peter's entrance, his bushy, gray eyebrows coming together like bookends. He did not have a chance to speak before Peter snapped.

"Of all the rubbish you've put me through, this is the worst!" he proclaimed, glaring at the man with eyes of steel, "I'm finished listening to your shit ideas. This is my future, and I'll do with it what I want! I'm going to help people! Just because you're a miserable abomination set on dragging down everyone else around you doesn't mean that I have to stay here and accept it."

His father's eyes turned cold, alight with an anger that usually only appeared after a bottle of gin. In a low, slow voice, he warned, "Watch yer tongue, boy. I know yer too young to see it, but I'm doing what's best for ye. I won't let ye go out an' turn into yer brother-"

"I'm not going to!" Peter exclaimed, "I'm nothing like, nor will I _ever_ be like that sorry bastard! But I cannot simply stay here when I could be doing something good! Your insistence to keep me in this place goes against the greater good; for once can't you just stop and think about someone other than yourself? Can you stop misjudging me? I'm not a copy of Arthur that's doomed for evil, I'm not whatever you mistake me for-"

"You sound just like him." his father stated, his voice low and dry with insult. He knew perfectly well what it meant to Peter; he was not at all blind to the weight that his words carried. It was a verbal jab - hurtful, but not as severe as a physical attack, though something told Peter that one may be forthcoming.

"Not that I would know how he was." Peter seethed, teeming with anger but quieting his voice so as to discourage a physical altercation. "But even someone who was as irresponsible and uncaring as he has the right to resist your cruelty. I've done everything you've ever asked of me. Every idea that you had for my life I have fallen in line with. But I'm finished with all that, because you can't bring yourself to allow me any amount of freedom. I'm done with your rejection. I can do this myself."

The man neared Peter, stopping only a few feet in front of him. He gazed down at him through eyes of dull, matte ice, in which no emotion was discernable. It was puzzling to Peter, who had seen his father act in an invariably predictable manner when provoked. Typical signs of his fury included swearing, ranting, and smoking, but there was none of that now. There was only stillness and silence, as thick as the silver beard concealing the man's lips.

Just when Peter felt a bit of hope, he found that he was looking in a completely different direction. The pain did not come until several moments after the realization, whereupon it flooded his senses with a vengeance. He slowly turned his head back to stare at his father, eyes wide in face flushed and burned, tender beneath his fingers as he inspected the wound. Upon further observation, he realized that his father had indeed backhanded him, leaving him reeling from the pain.

"Go on, then. Drop your responsibilities and run away. You were always just like him, only weaker. You're no son of mine."

Peter felt his blood run cold at the words, and for some time the boy was suspended in a state of disbelief. He could not fathom the estrangement he'd just been dealt, and he felt entirely lost and betrayed. He did not now what he would do, but he feared everything before him with sincere, overwhelming trepidation.

Yet his father did not relent. He only gazed at his son in an apathetic manner, holding firm in his position as if he were objectively and unquestionably correct. He returned to his table, taking a long puff from his pipe and making himself busy with the hooks once more.

"Don't be expecting any favors from me. By tomorrow, you had best be at sea or lookin' for your own place to live, because you won't be under my roof."

Peter fund himself stumbling backward, though he wasn't sure where precisely he was going. Leaving the room would not help him escape the issue, but he felt the desire to do so anyway. If he could just get out of the kitchen, out of the house. Then, out of sight entirely, perhaps it would lessen the impact of the banishment. As Peter's gait shifted from unsure to a desperate sprint, he began to feel something other than soul-consuming sorrow. With each step he took, he gained a sense of purpose. With each inch of distance put between him and his father, Peter felt that he wasn't just running from his misfortune, but toward a future. While he had burned the only bridges he'd ever known, he had a brand new one being forged ahead of him. His father's blessing had come at a great cost, but at least he had indeed ascertained it.

The setting sun casted its warm dying rays onto Peter's face, adding to the exhilarated light in his eyes. Long, high shadows engulfed the island, flashing past as Peter continued to run. With some horror the boy recalled that Reed had planned to sail before nightfall. Recognizing that his future would be thrust into alarming uncertainty unless he made haste, Peter began to run with urgency as well as joy, glee as well as adrenaline. Within a minute he had reached the village, noting with a sinking feeling that it was devoid of the red coats that had become his saving grace.

The moments immediately before catching sight of the docks were the most heart-wrenching. Each second of tortuous uncertainty seemed to last an eternity, throwing the lad through a thousand lifetimes of waiting. But when he rounded the corner of the barkery and finally laid eyes upon the clipper still floating in the harbor, Peter was exuberant with relief. With a wide grin and a gasp for air, he continued at a fervent pace to the pier, where he came to a stop. Doubled over and struggling for oxygen, he could only barely manage to call out.

"Commodore Norrington!"

A moment after the plea, the officer's familiar face appeared over the portside bow, accompanied by a few curious midshipmen. With an expression of pleasant surprise, Norrington responded, "Oh, there you are! One moment, I'll be right down."

As the Commodore exited the ship, Peter desperately worked to recapture his breath. He only just managed to make himself presentable by the time the man arrived. Straightening up, Peter smoothed out his shirt and offered a giddy smile.

"Excellent news - my father is allowing me to go!"

Norrington, who had previously been somber regarding the negative response he'd received, was visibly shocked. "Marvelous…!" he proclaimed, his own stately visage reflecting genuine happiness as opposed to his typical regal satisfaction, "Yes, that's splendid! I was worried I wouldn't see you again before leaving. You see, we were just about to depart…" He paused, casting a glance up to _HMS Interceptor_ , which was crawling with men preparing to sail. In his face, Peter saw the look of a man who was entirely at peace with the course of his life, and looked forward to the tides of his future. Peter realized that for the first time, he was able to find common ground with Norrington. He too felt excitement when regarding all that was to come, and for once he wasn't the slightest bit anxious with his impending fate. With a growing sense of bliss, Peter saw that he was on the road to forging a life for himself that he could be proud of. Perhaps if he were lucky, he would be able to attain the title of Commodore himself. Commodore Kirkland. That would be the name to restore peace and order to the seas.

"Well, I shall put my word in once we reach London. Once I've obtained permission to take on an apprentice, I'll return for you." the Commodore stated, having regained his usual composure. His smile, though not as intense or vivacious, was warm and sincere as he rested a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Expect to see me in about a week's time, and prepare to meet that adventure you've been seeking."

Peter beamed up to Norrington, overjoyed with the statement. Rising to his toes in exhilaration, he exclaimed, "I can hardly wait!"

Norrington allowed himself to smile, amused and satisfied with the lad's answer. "That's the spirit," he said, standing taller and tipping his hat in a gesture of farewell, "Don't fret, now. We won't be too long, I assure you. Until then." He nodded before turning and boarding the ship once more, addressing his men almost immediately after setting foot on deck.

"Right then, let's set sail! We've an important date to make."

The seamen quickly set to work, maneuvering the rigging precisely as Norrington had described to Peter earlier. The boy could see Norrington reunite with Reed, and take the time to exchange a few words that were lost to the ocean wind. Seconds later, the Captain walked to the edge of the craft and looked down to Peter, raising a hand with a broad smile.

Peter returned the gesture as the sails caught the gale and the ship began to move. _HMS_ _Interceptor_ made headway in leaving port, and the other two crafts followed her lead. As they cut through the waves, Peter realized that they had drawn their anchors before he arrived. Norrington had not been exaggerating.

Seeing that he had met his future with only a hairsbreadth of leeway, Peter took a deep, shaky breath and sank to one knee, watching the glorious vessels depart into the great blue world that he would soon explore and discover for himself.

The moment that the ships disappeared from sight, Peter felt his high begin to fade. It was dark, the sky fading to black except for a medium navy gradient lingering on the horizon. He felt cold in the wake of his enthusiasm, abandoned and inexplicably alone. Now that the only sound greeting his ears was the lonely crashing of the waves over the shore, Peter realized that his dreams weren't as close as he'd previously thought. Now he was faced with a cruel wait, which was made all the more unwelcome by the fact that he was left with no home.

Confounded by his own loss, Peter decided that at the very least he could revisit the house to say his last goodbye and gather a few changes of clothes. Hopefully his father would allow it. Peter winced at the thought of being turned away as cruelly as he was disowned. Living on his own and outside of his parents' home was going to be difficult enough; Peter didn't want to be tasked with gathering more necessities than could be helped as well.

With a weary and almost frightened sigh, Peter gathered his composure and made his way back home, travelling at a much slower pace than his previous panicked rush. He dreaded the return to the place he once called home, but he swallowed his fear with the knowledge that whatever transpired on the island for the following week was of no consequence. Even if the most dreadful catastrophe occurred, it would be forgotten when Peter sailed away from the problems of the small community. He would be occupied with bigger and better things soon, and the woes he endured while trapped on the island would fade into nothing more than a bad dream.

Peter's house came into sight, the outside lighted by a burning torch. It appeared that they had been expecting him. Apprehensive and jittery, the lad hesitated before walking to the front of the door and giving it a pathetic, barely-audible knock.

His father answered the door almost immediately. Peter felt chills run throughout his body as he gazed up to the man, feeling like a gazelle trapped by an overbearing lion.

"Oy, you've come back." he stated, his voice coarse and dry, "What far? I'm assumin' ye realized how much ye really needed ye home? Thinkin' twice 'bout all this sailor hogwash?"

Hogwash. That was all it was to him. Peter felt a fire reignite in his chest, reminding him why he had grown so cross to begin with. In a bout of confidence and assertiveness, Peter folded his arms and glared up to his father in resentment.

"That is rubbish! I don't need you now, and I certainly won't need you in a week, when I leave this hell! In fact, I'd wager that it's _you_ who needs _me!_ "

His father frowned, staring down at him with eyes of ice. "And you're sure that you want to be just like 'im..? You always were closer to 'im than we preferred."

With that he turned and walked back into the house, though he didn't close the door. Peter watched him, feeling his heart split asunder.

"Goodbye, Dad…"

The older man paused in the hallway, but did not look back to Peter. After a brief moment, he continued back into the kitchen, disappearing from sight.

Peter's mother replaced him, standing in the doorway. From the pained, forlorn look in her eyes, Peter was able to tell that she differed vastly from his father. She shrugged a satchel from her shoulder, handing it to Peter. "I packed your things for you…"

Peter took the bag and slung it over his shoulder, then reached out and captured the woman in a hug. She did not miss a beat in reciprocating, leaning down to rest her head over his shoulders. One hand ran through his hair, the other pressing against his back. In a hushed voice, she whispered, "I love you, and you will always be my son."

Peter felt a warm sensation arise in his chest at the promise, and he tightened his grip around the woman in response. "I'm sorry. But if he ever lays a hand on you, don't be frightened. Send on me. Just write, and I'll be here. I promise."

Peter was the first to let go. He pulled away, staring at his mother in a determined manner. "Goodbye. I love you."

As he strolled away into the night, Peter could hear the distinct, agonizing cries of his mother gently weeping.


End file.
